An item posted on Facebook yesterday gave me pause-for-thought. It was one of those ‘scare’ medical things questionable researchers post with impunity to tell us that everything we do is qoing to ultimately kill us.
Well, of course that’s so. That’s called fucking ‘mortality’ you grant-money grubbing bozos. Everything you do or don’t do will kill you.
Since these killjoy guys and girls in their white coats have run through dissing transfats, salt, sugar, booze, fizzy drinks, marbled meat, cigarettes, and virtually everything else that affords us some quality in our bleak days on the planet, the culprit now is the ‘tube steak’.
That’s right, wieners, franks, hotdogs or whatever you want to call them lead — according to these guys in a drive to put terror into the hearts of caring parents – to a huge increase in childhood leukemia should more than a dozen be consumed in a month. They don’t say whether it should be a short month or a long one. I think for February, maybe about 9 franks, just to be on the safe side.
I’m not saying they’re wrong, I am only saying they are attacking a lot of people at their fundament with their belief in the ‘leukoweenie’ threat. Hotdogs are part of the culture. If you didn’t have hotdogs nobody would bother:
- Attending a ballgame.
- Going to a beach cookout
- Going camping.
- Holding a kids’ birthday party; what, you’re going to risk giving all those tykes leukemia? Some of them may be past 11 for that month already.
And finally, the New York cops on Law & Order would have nothing to eat when they are out making the streets safe. Crime would soar.
Furthermore, loss of condiment sales like mustard, relish, mayonnaise and sauerkraut would have an impact on the economy. Don’t mention ketchup. No purist ever taints a hotdog with ketchup – or even catsup, for that matter.
I’ve consumed a lot of hotdogs in my life and have never felt guilty about it. Until now. Now do I have to add them to my list of things that throughout my life I’ve indulged in. Well, as of this morning I was still breathing and have remained on the upside of the grass, so maybe I won’t fret too much. I’m probably already past the tipping-point in any case.
Anyway, and finally, I am put in mind of a dear man, now ‘late’, alas, who was one of my counselors at the recovery centre I ran a few years ago. When lunchtime came there was never a man happier than he when he realized hotdogs were the fare.
“Oh boy,” he’d exclaim. “Tube steaks today. It doesn’t get better than that.”
So, remember, what doesn’t kill you, makes you strong.